


Brush and Bloom

by TuppingLiberty



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: 1990s Grunge Era, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist!Chirrut, Florist!Baze, Grunge!Baze, M/M, demisexual baze
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 11:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12457155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Baze's one wish - whether at work on on his commute - is to be left alone.Imagine his surprise when he becomes the one that starts interfering with someone else's life. But hey, it's just flowers, right?Gift for aeremaee for the Star Wars Writing Alliance Gift Exchange 2017





	Brush and Bloom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aeremaee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeremaee/gifts).



It took a lot to capture Baze’s eye on his commute. Mostly he kept his head down, his headphones on, his grunge of the week blaring through his Walkman. He looked gruff enough that people tended to steer clear of him on public transit anyway. It was a mindset Baze didn’t mind encouraging at all. For his job, he tended to keep his full sleeves covered under his flannel, but for the subway ride, he’d peel the shirt sleeves back and fold his arms over his chest, appearing completely unapproachable. Which was totally fine. He got enough interaction with customers, he didn’t need to be approached on the subway and chatted at. 

In the blur of advertising and people yelling and storefronts flashing, it took a lot for Baze to really notice something, but this morning, he did, stopping in his tracks, Pearl Jam still blaring in his ears. He was caught there, in front of the tiny gallery just around the corner from the shop where he worked, eyes stuck on the beautiful and bright abstract paintings gracing the windows. 

There was just something about color blending into color, in a beautiful rainbow, line over line, in what could have been an absolute mess but instead was - well, it was breathtaking, to be honest. 

He couldn’t remember ever being affected by a piece of art this way. He didn’t- it wasn’t normally his thing, to be honest. Sure, Galen was always praising his work as art, but not- not like _this._ He stuck flowers in vases, he didn't do anything special.  


He shook his dazed head and took one last glance, then moved along. At the shop, he nodded at Galen, his boss and the much more elegant and customer friendly front of the flower shop, and headed to the back to start preparing the huge wedding order for the weekend. 

\-----------------

It became a habit, stopping by the gallery to look his fill on his way to and from the subway. Sometimes he’d even drop by during his lunch break. That was when he first saw the blind man. 

Well, actually, it took Baze way too long and with too many context clues to figure out the man was blind, but he finally did, and then he wondered about the man, working in a gallery of all places. Watched through the window as the man chatted with people who’d walked in. The man was friendly, making the customers laugh. Way better with people than Baze would ever be. Handsome. 

The thought appeared unbidden in Baze’s mind, but once it was there, Baze couldn’t dislodge it. Baze was attracted to the man in a way he was rarely attracted to people. And he didn’t even know the man’s name. 

He just knew where the man would be Monday through Friday from nine to five. And so maybe checking in on the guy became a part of Baze's routine as much as looking at the paintings did. Not that he wanted to seem like a stalker or anything. He didn't have any intention of talking to the guy, he just liked knowing the guy was still there. Liked seeing the smile on his face.  


One morning, he noticed the man seemed a little...less. Less gregarious. Less bright. Not stormy, or angry. Just  _ wilted. _

He kept the man in mind as he worked through orders and dealt with customers when Galen was busy. Inspiration struck when he was finishing up a bouquet for delivery to a hospital, and he had extra dianthus. They had a sweet, spicy smell even when the bloom itself wasn’t too flashy, and Baze shifted them around in his hands thoughtfully, before marking them down on the inventory for the cost to be taken from his wages. 

When Stewart, their delivery guy, came around for the orders, Baze sent the small dianthus bouquet off to the man in the gallery with no note. 

The next day, Baze was pleased to see that the man seemed just a little brighter. _He'd_ done that. Had a positive impact. He found he really, really liked that the other man was smiling again today, and he'd maybe been part of the cause. The dianthus were sitting on the counter. Less artfully arranged than he would have done, but Baze figured he was also slightly picky about such things. Hazard of the job, along with dozens of little nips in his fingers from cutting stems and thorns and ribbons, and smelling like flowers all the time. 

This became a regular thing too. Every other week or so, Baze would have some extra of a sweet-smelling flower, maybe some gardenia, or a spare lily or rose, would mark it out of inventory to come from his paycheck, and would send it off with Stewart to be delivered. Galen raised an eyebrow at the inventory but thankfully said nothing, and really, with his employee discount, it really wasn’t costing Baze  _ that _ much to brighten the gallery man’s day a little. Like the paintings brightened his day. Baze thought of it like an exchange, almost. 

It was a random Thursday when the paintings had him stopping in his tracks again after work. It was all new work, but Baze could tell it was the same artist, from the signature. It was cursive and couldn’t be read, but it was the same signature that had graced the abstract work. 

Except none of the new stuff was abstract, well, at least, not in the same way the older stuff had been. Every single piece was -  _ flowers. _ Dianthus. Gardenias. Lilies. Roses. Abstracted flowers, deconstructed even, but Baze could still recognize their roots, their essence. 

Stunned, he opened the door to the gallery without thinking and shuffled inside. He heard the bell above the door ring, and for the first time, the full force of the man’s handsome face and wonderful smile was turned on Baze. Baze felt a little weak in the knees. 

“You’re the painter,” Baze said, his words echoing in the gallery. 

The man continued to smile. “Of the works in the window? Yes, that’s me. C-scribble.” 

“C-scribble?” Baze echoed. 

“My signature. That’s what everyone tells me it looks like. Chirrut Îmwe,” the man said, holding out his hand. 

Baze automatically reached out to grip it, and was about to introduce himself when Chirrut stiffened, and used the handshake to pull Baze a little closer, audibly sniffing him. 

“You’re the flower sender.” 

It seemed useless to deny it. “I- uh. Yeah.” 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, or, I mean, if you’ve been sending me flowers then hopefully you  _ wouldn’t _ take this the wrong way anyway, but-” Chirrut paused to take a deep breath and laughed. “I’m really, really glad you’re a man.” 

Baze let out a surprised laugh. 

“Because if you were a woman, I was going to have to let you down really gently, and I’m not the best at that.” 

Hope flared in Baze’s heart. 

“Because I’m gay. Really gay. Definitely not a choice, gay. Please, for the love of god, say something, I’m dying here.” 

Baze laughed again. “I’m sorry, no, I mean. I am, um. Attracted to you.” It was the simplest way to put it, and he didn’t really want to delve into everything now anyway.

Baze thought he might just float away on the happy feelings Chirrut’s grin was giving him. Chirrut was positively  _ beaming _ at him. “Well, that’s certainly a good first step.” 

Baze grinned goofily back, even though he knew Chirrut couldn’t see it. 

“A good second step, of course, would be knowing your  _ name.” _ Chirrut coughed to cover up the sardonic smile. 

“Oh- oh right. I’m Baze. Baze Malbus.” 

“And you work with flowers.” 

Baze blushed. “I do. Um. Around the corner.” 

Chirrut, who still had his hand, squeezed. “I was hoping it was something like that. That’s why I put the flowers up. Well, that, and recently I can’t seem to paint anything but flowers.” 

“I’m- I love your work. All of it. The flowers, but the other stuff too. It’s beautiful.” 

Chirrut’s fingers played over his knuckles. “You aren’t going to ask  _ how _ I do it? How a blind man could possibly paint?”

Baze shrugged, then remembered he needed to vocalize. “Seems like a rude question.” 

“Marry me,” Chirrut intoned, and Baze choked out a laugh. Chirrut grinned back. “Or maybe, what about just a date? Tomorrow night, if you’re free?”

“I think I can clear some time up for you,” Baze replied sarcastically. He looked down at their joined hands, not really wanting to let go. “I’m free tonight, too, if you wanted to grab dinner,” he murmured, all sarcasm gone. 

Chirrut gave a thoughtful look somewhere over Baze’s shoulder. “I could make that work, too,” he murmured back. “Just let me close up here.” 

Baze waited, watching quietly as Chirrut went through the steps of setting the alarm and locking down the gallery. Around the gallery, Chirrut moved freely, but after locking the front door, he pulled out a cane and started using it. 

A glowing warmth slid through Baze when Chirrut offered him his free hand as they walked away from the gallery. Smiling, Baze took it. 

\-------------------------

“Where are you?” Chirrut asked, their fingers wound together. “Where’d my husband go?”

The question was asked with some amusement. It was not the first time Chirrut had pulled Baze out from the place he liked to hide within himself. It was a regular occurrence, actually. 

“I was thinking of the first time we held hands,” Baze murmured, pressing a kiss into Chirrut’s hair as they continued their nightly summer walk. 

“Mmm. You were scared of me.” 

“I was not!”

Chirrut shot him a look.

“Okay. I was a little scared. A lot scared. Scared shitless.” 

Chirrut laughed, leaning a little into Baze’s side. “And it worked out anyway, thank god.” He leaned over a little to sniff at the flower Baze had tucked into his pocket after work, then hummed a little in happiness. 

Baze brought Chirrut’s hand up for a kiss, then tucked Chirrut more firmly against him as they walked through the neighborhood, getting stopped every now and again by neighbors. Fifteen years later, and Baze still wore his flannels and showed his sleeves - grunge would never die, as far as Baze was concerned - but no longer needed to ward anyone off, not when Chirrut was tucked into his side. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always lovely! I can be found at animalasaysrauer on tumblr.


End file.
